Out
by Malconvoker
Summary: He had been dying as soon as he arrived on this island. All the talk of surviving was just a distraction from the truth. He wouldn't be leaving this island alive. That steam ship on the horizon was just another hallucination. AU
1. Edge

A Don't Starve AU Fan Fiction

**Edge**

Finally, he collapses to his knees at the cliff side.

The running had made his breathing hard, the frequency of the wracking coughs increasing. Dropping on all fours, he coughs into the ground, hacking up green mucus tinged with rusty blood. Taking a couple of rattling breaths, he hugs his own chest as if it will get the pneumonia to go away, eyes squeezed shut in pain.

He is careful not to touch his own left arm or his back. The claws had left nasty tears on his back and he was 'oh so smart' using a torch to cauterize the wounds that it made him black out until morning. Those wounds hadn't become infected, luckily but the last few days had been hell on top of pneumonia.

The bites on his arm were more recent, as in less than an hour recent. The damned spiders. One had got him, snuck up on him while he was trying to relocate somewhere warmer where he could find some way to cure his lung infection. It had tore his pack apart and left him with nothing but a torch to defend himself with. He had won, but it had already called for help.

He was going to have a hard time recovering from that half hour of running. The chills had overtaken whatever heat he had salvaged from the exercise, the wind off the ocean only serving to freeze his sweat on his brow. His eyes were getting hazy, not that he was really trying to use them. On top of all that, the fever was burning his brain, his mad-tainted mind being kicked towards the edge of insanity with each fever dream. Fever dreams that happened whether he was asleep or not.

So Wilson just knelt there at the edge of a cliff, wishing the fever would go away, that the wounds would stop hurting, that he could breathe normally, that he was strong enough to stand again. Wishing he wasn't so pathetic. He looked out into the grey sea, knowing there was no way to cross it, that he was trapped here until he died. That certainty was looking closer every second.

More wet coughs wracked his frame, each producing more of the horrid phlegm, more tainted by blood every time. Wilson stared at the filth, eyes dully focused in disturbed fascination. He had trouble focusing on his hearing, ears filled with the sound of rushing blood and cotton. He could feel the fingers on his left hand going numb. Gently tilting his head, he looked at the offending limb and through his torn sleeve and the blood; he saw green tinged skin around the wounds.

A half mad laugh escaped the man "Poison!" he rasped, his voice high in disbelief "Of course the spider's bite was poisoned" He threw his head back in insane, desperate, sad laughter. Staring at the sky, he could feel the tears stream down his face.

The laughter slowly dissolved into a coughing fit and he was on all fours again. As his coughs slowed, sobbing took its place. Wilson cried, slamming his good fist into the ground. His face contorted in rage and pain, he continued to beat the ground until whatever anger was beat out of him and the man was left with fear and despair.

"God, please-"he whimpered, choking on a sob, "I don't want to die." He screwed his eyes shut as he dug his fingers into his head, pulling at his black hair, ignoring the pain. He looked out into the sea, as if pleading with it "God damnit I don't want to die!" he yelled, his voice thick with tears and mucus. Wilson had never been truly religious, but kneeling as he was, it looked as if he was a penitent man. He may have even prayed a bit.

It was then that Wilson saw the steam ship. Well, it looked like a steam ship to him, for all he knew, it was a weird log that hallucinations of madness and sickness made to look like a ship. If it was god's idea of a joke, he was sorry he even thought of praying to that sick bastard. He closed his eyes and slumped over, somehow still kneeling upright as he went limp in exhaustion.

He had been dying as soon as he arrived on this island. All the talk of surviving was just a distraction from the truth. He wouldn't be leaving this island alive.

* * *

The words snapped him back from unconsciousness. Voices, he could hear voices, but couldn't tell how near or far they were, nor what they were saying. Another hallucination, mad whispers. He dismissed them until they were right in his ear.

"Ya hear me, laddie?"

"Wake up! Sir, wake up!"

"Go away" Wilson muttered, his voice weak and flat "you're not real. Just let me be."

"Wha? What're you sayin' lad?"

"Oh dear, you were right to bring me sir."

It was the touch that made him second guess the whole notion of hallucinations. A hand felt his forehead; cool against the heat of fever. It made him shiver and open his eyes to see a woman kneeling in front of him, grey eyes behind glasses and brown hair in a messy bun. She took off what looked like a sort of cloak and flung it over his shoulders. The warmth was the most wonderful thing in the world in that moment, even if it did make the burn on his back sting a bit. He winced and shut his eyes again as arms pulled him against the woman's shoulder. He would have normally been flustered so close to a woman but now he only felt tired.

"Sir, help me bring him back to the ship!"

"Wha?! We don't even know 'o 'e is!"

"It doesn't matter! He has a fever and I'm betting other wounds!"

"Eh?"

"If nothing else, he should at least die in comfort, not in this godforsaken place"

"Eh, fine. I'll carry 'im. Go ahead an' warn the crew"

"yes sir, captain"

The warmth of the woman disappeared and for a moment, Wilson thought he imagined it ever being there. Until he was picked up and slung over the shoulder of someone much bigger than either him or the woman. He couldn't open his eyes to see but he could feel a strong arm under him. A near silent sob escaped his lips as he managed a whisper "you're real?"

"Aye. Hold on, lad."

* * *

This is what happens when I finish finals and am looking at stuff for a game I haven't played since January at midnight! Enjoy this mildly disturbing and depressing fan fiction about a mad man dying on a cliff! This may go on for a couple more chapters but no more than four.


	2. Safe

A Don't Starve AU Fan Fiction

**Safe**

The first thing he saw was a softly glowing blur. The first thing he thought was 'I can't let it go out!' He tried to scramble to his feet to put a log or something on the fire but only managed to sit up before falling over, grabbing the edge of something before letting go because that was the arm that had been bitten open.

The sound of glass falling to the floor and a wet splash doubled with the pain brought the world into focus.

First, he glanced at his left arm, the one that had been flayed open, and was greeted with heavy bandages and the smell of disinfectant. There were other smells but none were as strong as what he thought was sea air, or as worrying as the metal tang of old blood. Through hazy eyes, he turned his attention to his surroundings.

He was in a dimly lit room, furnished sparsely with a bed he was sitting in, a side table he was leaning on, a chair and an oil lamp that sat next to a glass pitcher full of water. He looked to the carpeted floor to see a glass cup on its side, having just spilt its contents into that dark spot.

He franticly searched his memory, trying to find if he had seen this room before, but nothing came to the front. Either he had never been here before or he was so addle minded that he just couldn't remember anything about this place.

As he continued to search his mind, he heard a voice growing stronger from beyond the door "Honestly" the voice sounded feminine and slightly annoyed "I'm gone for a few minutes and something happens. Typical." The heavy door creaked open to reveal a slight woman carrying a steaming bowl in one hand and a bottle of something in the other, somehow having opened the door carrying both.

Wilson stared at the woman. She had a nagging familiarity to her, with her brown hair and grey eyes and glasses sliding down the ridge of her nose. The woman herself paused at the door and stared right back before a fearsome look entered her eyes and she said with an almost threatening tone "Don't you dare try to get up, sir. I will strap you down if you move anymore."

Wilson tried to push himself back fully on the bed(with his good arm) and only just managed to not fall onto his other side. The woman placed the bowl and the bottle on the table and reached down, picking up the fallen glass. Wilson was going to ask her something, many things if he was to be honest, but he could only manage a rasp before a stabbing pain pierced his throat. He grabbed at his neck, coughing and feeling as if this pain would keep him from breathing when a hand holding a glass of water appeared at his side. He managed to force the coughs down, reaching out with his good hand to claim the water. The water wasn't cool but it was a balm on a burn to him, bliss in those few moments he took to drink.

The woman's serious face broke into a small smile when he had finished the water and handed the glass back to her. She took a seat next to his bed "I'm glad to see you have enough energy to move, even if it is just your arm. You shouldn't try anything like standing for a while. Especially after what happened first time you woke up." He definitely didn't remember that and he expressed his confusion in the most eloquent way he could, tilting his head. She stared at his expression for a few moments before a look of understanding crossed her features "Oh! You don't remember?" he shook his head "Well, I guess you were still in the worst of the fever, back when-" she cut herself off, biting her lip while silently thinking "back when we weren't sure you would pull though."

Those words hit him like a physical blow. He had almost died. He remembered now; the wounds, the sickness, the poison, kneeling at a cliff side waiting to die.

The woman continued past his blank shock, "You first woke up about two days after we took you onboard. I wasn't in the room at the time, the nurse was. He said you tried to attack him when he went to take the lamp away. You were screaming something when I got there but nothing coherent. The screaming may have contributed to the loss of your voice. Ever since, we've kept the lamp lit here in case." She shrugged at that last revelation as he sat there, embarrassed and ashamed by his own apparent madness.

Slowly, he understood what caused that outburst most likely. It was the same reason he almost injured his arm when he woke up. He was trying to preserve the light, protect himself from the things in the dark. It was his way of keeping the dangers at bay.

The silence that followed the woman's last words were broken when she stood up, momentarily panicking Wilson that she was leaving him alone. He was relieved to see she was only walking to the table where she picked up the things she had entered the room with, a bottle and a bowl of something that's smell made his stomach pitch in hunger. "Here," she handed the bowl to him, only letting go when she was sure he had a grip on it. It appeared to be some sort of broth, "I'd like you to see if you can keep that down. Pneumonia has a way of keeping you from eating so if you can take that, I'll see what I can do about getting you some real food."

The broth was salty and tasted somewhat like chicken. While he was hungry, Wilson was determined to take his time with the sparse meal. He was a gentleman and he knew better than to eat quickly when you were starving in addition to being sick. He took slow sips, letting the warm liquid sooth his aching throat and hoping his stomach would not reject it.

Meanwhile, the woman sat next to his bed, carefully measuring liquid from the bottle she had brought with the broth. Between sips, he watched her fill a small cup with a dark syrup that moved slowly. When she was satisfied with the amount, she turned her attention back to Wilson, who had stopped eating to watch the progress of the little cup. They stared silently at each other before the woman spoke "If you're finished, I'd like you to take this" she took the bowl from him and placed the small cup in his hand. He questioned her silently to which she answered "Just medicine. It should, at the very least, work to clear your breathing and make it easier to sleep-" She paused for a moment "Which is what I would like you to do after this. Even if you've recovered this much, I still doubt your body take too much after what you've been though."

With that sobering statement, Wilson looked at the syrup and braced himself for whatever taste the medicine could have. It turned out to be weirdly bitter and taste somehow like peppermint and peppercorn at the same time. He nearly gagged on the taste after the mild broth, coughing returning and eyes watering. He managed to force his breathing to normal and was once again greeting by the sight of a hand holding a glass of water. "Sorry about that." The woman said as he took the glass "It's a horrid taste but it works."

Once again, when he finished she took the glass from his hand and placed it on the nightstand. Picking up his bowl and the small cup, she stood to leave "Now, I'd like you to try to get more sleep. Even just this much activity could strain you too much and I don't want a relapse of your pneumonia." Her voice was serious but the expression on her face showed her kindness. She turned and walked to the door, stopping as she opened it. "I'll leave the lamp there. Goodnight, and welcome aboard the S.S. Avalon."

As she moved through the door, a momentary jolt of panic shot through Wilson's mind. If she left, then he was sure this would turn out to be some mad illusion of his fever addled mind. He tried to say 'wait' but all that escaped his mouth was a raspy, half formed syllable. But it was enough to make her pause.

"What?" she turned in the door frame.

For a few seconds, relief flooded through him before being replaced by an almost long forgotten social awkwardness that Wilson was sure he would never experience again. A few more seconds passed before he decided what to say. With no small amount of effort, he lifted his good hand to his chest and managed to speak one, important word.

"Wilson."

It hurt like knives tearing through his throat but he pushed the pain to the back of his mind. He had to tell her who he was, just so she could be real and he wouldn't be alone and crazy and probably still dying somewhere.

The shocked look on the woman's face was slowly replaced by a warm and welcoming smile as she did the closest thing she could do to a curtsy with both hands full and while holding a door open. "And I am Iris. Doctor Iris Malroy." Almost as if she could feel his fear, she continued, her voice soft "Don't worry. I'll only be a room away. Get some sleep."

As she closed the door, Wilson lay back down on the bed, the light from the hall slowly fading, leaving only the lamp on the table next to him. He watched the flickering flame from the bed, its glow fading as he finally closed his eyes.

* * *

Authors notes: Chapter two done~!

This took a bit longer than the last one if the time between is anything to go on. Anyway, look! An OC!

For the curious, the S.S. Avalon actually was a real steam ship. I'm not basing this one on the real one, just the name. The real ship was a popular way to visit Catalina Island off the coast of California and it now sits at the bottom of the ocean, serving as an artificial reef after a fire damaged it beyond repair.


End file.
